


Hey Arthur!

by TheVioletHour (TinternAbbey)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Eames is a poet with a tortured soul, Hey Arnold! references, M/M, so much crack, there are some things MasterCard can't buy; for everything else there's Saito
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 07:31:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16445486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinternAbbey/pseuds/TheVioletHour
Summary: In which Arthur is the Arnold to Eames' Helga Pataki. And there is lots of bad poetry.





	Hey Arthur!

**Author's Note:**

> I... have no idea where this came from. It occurred to me, after re-watching the movie, that Eames' attitude toward Arthur reminds me a lot of Helga from _Hey Arnold!_ So I had to write this. Enjoy the crack!

"Move it, fancy suit," said Eames, elbowing Arthur on his way to the coffeepot. "I'm walking here."

Arthur sighed and rubbed at the spot where Eames' elbow had jabbed him. "Whatever you say, Eames."

He stalked off to share his breakfast with Ariadne, much to Eames' annoyance. Eames took out his frustration by launching twenty-seven spitballs at Arthur's head, flicking eighteen rubber bands at him, and setting a thumbtack on his chair. That last one backfired when Yusuf decided to borrow Arthur's seat, but all in all it was a satisfying morning.

It was bloody hard work, after all, doing such a good job keeping his feelings a secret.

"Arthur, that old stick-in-the-mud," Eames muttered to himself once he was alone. "What a wet blanket. What a bore! How I hate his lack of imagination. I hate his stupid perfect outfits. And yet..." Eames glanced furtively from side to side, then withdrew a little heart-shaped picture frame from his pocket. Inside was a photo of Arthur. "...I love him!" Eames' eyes went soft as he gazed at the picture. "Oh, how I long to call you darling in the heat of romantic passion! If only I could extract my sweet dreams from my subconscious and give them flight in the waking world! Why do I fear to build a paradise with you, Arthur darling? Why, oh, why must I ridicule you when only the deepest love for you resides in my heart?"

And feeling inspired, Eames pulled out a little salmon-colored notebook (which was _much_ manlier than pink, thank you very much) and scribbled a poem that expressed his secret feelings:

Oh Arthur, darling,  
Point man of my heart.  
I call you darling out loud in jest,  
When deep inside,  
I mean it with every tormented inch of my soul.  
Why must I fear to touch you in waking life  
The way I lovingly caress you in my dreams?  
Alas, my dearest,  
If only the powers of inception  
Could plant the idea of how I feel  
Inside that gorgeously serious head of yours.

Later on, when he returned to his hotel, Eames would recite his new poem to the Arthur shrine he kept hidden in his closet. But in the meantime, he planned to spend the rest of his day glaring at Ariadne.

What was so great about _Ariadne_ , anyway? She made Eames want to puke. How dare she prance around the warehouse being all female and pretty and talented? It seemed that Arthur (the stupid twat) didn't just like her. He _liked her_ liked her, which was an outrage!

"Oops," Eames said after lunch, purposely sticking out his foot so Arthur would trip on it. "How _clumsy_ of you, Arthur."

Arthur picked himself off the floor, scowling at Eames. "You did that on purpose!"

"Prove it, fancy suit."

Cackling to himself, Eames strolled away.

But the moment he was alone again, his laugher turned to guilt-ridden horror. "Arthur, my love, my dearest point man! How it pains me to cause you suffering in order to keep my secret. When will I ever gain the courage to speak the words that shall free me from this lovesick prison? _When_ will I cease these childish pranks and declare myself as the man of your dreams?"

Naturally, Eames found it fitting to scribble another poem in his little salmon notebook:

A is for the arse I like to admire  
R is the ravenous way he fills me with desire  
T is for all the romantic trysts I've longed to start  
H is for that stubborn, incredibly elusive heart  
U is for the urge to tell him how I feel  
R, again, for how ravishing he looks in that shade of teal.

* * *

The following day, after Eames spent his morning ritual worshipping at his Arthur shrine, he entered the warehouse and found Arthur all alone, fiddling with the PASIV device. He really did have the nicest arse. Eames stood there glassy-eyed for a full minute, until he snapped himself out of his stupor in the fear of being discovered.

"Hey, Arthur, I think you dropped your totem!" Eames called out. 

Arthur, suddenly panicked, dropped down on all fours in search of his loaded die. Eames stood there smirking, then took the opportunity to aim a spitball at Arthur. It bounced off his perfectly shaped arse, which was currently in the air while Arthur searched under the table for his totem. 

"Eames!" Arthur growled in annoyance. He tried to get up, but he was still under the table and banged his head. 

Eames nearly wet himself with laughter. "You bloody fool! Check your pocket."

Arthur did. He discovered his loaded die, right where he had left it, and looked ready to aim something heavy and potentially lethal at Eames' head. But _Ariadne_ walked into the warehouse, in one of her silly cardigans, and Arthur hurriedly rose to his feet as he attempted to look dignified. 

Eames strode away in a huff. 

But soon enough, he was crouched in a corner where nobody could see him, scribbling out all his feelings: 

My heart belongs solely  
To the man with the impeccable suits and ties.  
Only with him does my destiny lie.  
He glances my way and does not see  
The secrets I bury several dream layers deep.  
And so I joke and I tease and I get under his skin,  
While he'll never know that his heart  
Is the only game I truly want to win.

* * *

Sometime after the Fischer job, Eames sat in one of Saito's many lavish offices, listening to the most tempting proposal he had ever heard in his life. (Excluding, of course, a proposal from Arthur, which would land him straight into heaven.)

"You're telling me you can simply _buy_ Arthur's affections?" Eames demanded. 

"A man can buy anything, Mr. Eames," Saito replied, sounding very matter-of-fact, "as long as he has the proper funds." 

Naturally Saito _did_ have the proper funds. As casually as buying an airline, Saito transferred some money around and drew up some papers, and within a matter of days Arthur's affections had been successfully purchased. 

And Eames never had to write another bad poem ever again. 


End file.
